The sheriff and his companions rode toward the stables, and grooms came running to take their horses. The men proceeded on foot toward the steep wooden staircase that would take them from the Inner bail to the shell keep that enclosed the top of the motte.
Before they had reached the steps, however, Gervase was accosted by a knight who began to talk to him in a low, staccato voice that bespoke urgency.
When the knight had finished speaking, the sheriff said to Hugh and his son, “Go along without me. There is something I must see to first.” He turned away to accompany the knight back toward the east gate, leaving Hugh and Richard alone.
Hugh said to his companion, “Go ahead, Richard, you don’t need to escort me. I am perfectly capable of finding my way around the castle by myself.”
“You want to get rid of me,” Richard said resignedly.
“You are, as always, wonderfully perceptive.”
Richard thrust his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Hugh,” he said. “Can’t we bury whatever ill will there might have been between us when we were boys? We’re men now-men who have a great deal in common. I can see no reason why we cannot be friends.”
“Can’t you?”
Richard’s gaze was steady on Hugh’s face. “Nay, I can’t.”
Hugh shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s be friends, then. And now, if you will excuse me, I should like to renew my acquaintance with some of my father’s old knights.”
Richard made as if to reach out and touch Hugh, then quickly suppressed the gesture. “Certainly,” he said, and smiled. “Shall I go and prepare the Lady Elizabeth for your visit?”
“Why don’t you do that?” Hugh said. And he turned away, leaving Richard to climb the stairs alone.
Hugh went directly to the area where the butts were set up, where he had spied William Rotier conducting archery practice.
As soon as William saw who was approaching, his face split into its gap-toothed grin. “Hugh! It’s grand to see you, lad. I heard you had come to Lincoln. Is it about this business of Bernard?”
“Aye,” said Hugh as he walked up to the stocky, wide-shouldered man. Hugh was not tall, but William was even shorter than he.
At that moment, the man whose turn it was to shoot let fly his arrow. It missed the circle drawn in the middle of the butt by a good foot. Derisive cries came from the rest of the participating knights.
“Do you know if John Rye is still in Lincoln, William?” Hugh asked.
William looked at him with surprise. “John Rye? What do you want with him?”
“I want to talk to him.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re out of luck, lad. He’s already left.”
Hugh frowned. “Knight’s fee duty is for a full month. His obligation shouldn’t have ended until last night.”
“He actually left three days ago,” William said. “He got a message from home that his wife was ill, and he asked the sheriff if he might shorten his duty by a few days so he could be with her. Gervase agreed.”
“I see,” Hugh said quietly.
As he stood for a moment, a slight frown between his brows, a flaxen-haired boy stepped up to the shooting line, his bow in hand.
“Isn’t that Richard Canville’s squire?” Hugh asked William.
“Aye. Richard has him take archery practice with the knights of the guard. He’s a good lad, is Alan Stanham. Everyone likes him.”
The two men fell quiet as the boy lifted his bow. It was shorter than the six-foot-long bows of the men, but even so, it was not an easy draw. Alan pulled back his string and let his arrow fly. It buried itself in the butt two inches outside the circle.
“Well done,” William called. “You’re improving, lad.”
For the first time, the competing knights noticed Hugh.
“Come and try a few rounds with us, my lord!” someone called good-naturedly. “Robert here wants to shoot against you!”
Robert was acknowledged to be the best archer in the castle guard. He had joined the guard after Ralf’s death and did not know the sheriff’s foster son. He looked at Hugh’s slender frame and tried unsuccessfully to disguise a contemptuous sneer.
The rest of the men laughed delightedly.
The boy, Alan, stood quietly, listening with a grave face.
Hugh said, “I don’t want to interrupt your practice.”
“You won’t be interrupting us, we’re almost finished,” William Rotier said heartily.
The rest of the men yelled noisy encouragement.
Hugh sighed. “All right, then.” He walked toward the shooting line.
Robert once more regarded Hugh’s slim figure. “If you wish to use the boy’s bow, you are welcome to do so, my lord,” he said with condescending generosity.
Hugh glanced at Alan, then shook his head. “No, thank you. I will borrow Henry’s.”
With a huge grin, one of the knights came forward and handed his bow to Hugh. It was a good one, made from a single stave of mountain yew, with a string of beeswax-impregnated flax.
The draw weight of Henry’s bow, as everyone knew, was close to a hundred and fifty pounds. It was made for a very strong man.
“Would you like to go first, my lord?” Robert asked.
“If you like,” Hugh replied carelessly, and stepped up to toe the line. He stood for a moment, his arms lowered, and then he began to raise the bow, all the while pushing the stave and pulling the string to bring the bow into a position of full draw. For the briefest of moments, he stood in the classic position of the archer, string near his ear, his head framed by the bow and the string. Then he let the arrow fly.
It buried itself in the dead center of the target circle.
The men who knew Hugh cheered with delight. Robert and Alan and a few others who did not know him stared in astonishment.
Hugh lowered the bow and turned to Robert. “Your turn,” he said pleasantly.
Robert scowled and stepped to the line. He waited while Alan removed Hugh’s arrow; then, slowly and deliberately, he raised his own bow, drew it, and shot.
His arrow landed in the exact same place Hugh’s had hit. Robert grinned with relief.
“We’ll just keep on doing it until one of us misses, shall we?” Hugh asked.
Once more, he stepped to the line and shot. Once more, the arrow hit the center of the circle.
Once more, Robert scowled and followed him. Once more, Robert hit dead center and grinned in relief.
Hugh went again, then Robert. Then Hugh again. And then Robert missed the center by an inch.
The knights of the guard, who did not appear to be overly fond of Robert, cheered Hugh vociferously.
Hugh smiled at his opponent. “You are very good,” he said.
Robert looked at Hugh as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re stronger than you look, my lord,” he muttered at last.
“Try wrestling with him and you’ll find out just how strong he is!” one of the men boasted.
Hugh looked amused, and beckoned to Henry to retrieve his bow. Then he cast his gaze upward toward the castle keep, and suddenly his face lost all expression. Raising his hand in a gesture of farewell, he turned away and began to cross the Inner bail toward the stairs.
Elizabeth de Beauté was sewing in the solar of the sheriff’s austere apartment when her prospective husband was announced. Lady Sybil, her nursemaid-companion-chaperone, put down the shirt she was embroidering and said, “So. At last we are to meet this young man whom your father chose for you.”
Elizabeth took another dainty stitch in the tapestry spread on her lap. She was very much aware of the ramifications of her father’s death. She knew that this marriage was not likely to happen now, and she did not regret that.
The girl had never wanted to marry Hugh de Leon. Still, she looked at the solar door with curiosity, interested to see up close the man who might have been her husband.
The slender young man she had watched yesterday walking beside Richard came quietly into the room. He wore a simple blue wool tunic with a plain red mantle swinging from his shoulders. His hair was uncovered, and she noted how black it was.